When Grace Sings (32 page)

She loved the two tiny creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he smiled or laughed. Ever since his parents gave him the farmstead, she’d seen less of his smile. She wanted to encourage its return. So she affected a mock pout and fluttered her eyelashes. “Only one peek, ple-e-ease?”

He shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “All right. After we’ve looked at cabinet door handles, if it isn’t too late, we’ll go by the house before I take you back to your aunt’s. But we’ll have to be careful not to touch the cabinet doors. The varnish is still wet.”

The hardware store in town only had a half-dozen varieties of handles for cabinet doors, but Anna—Grace found a scrolled design finished in antique brass she liked. Steven counted out the number needed and paid for them. She held the sack in her lap as they drove to the farmstead. The weight against her legs gave her a comforting feeling, as if she were contributing toward something important.

Steven pulled off the paved highway onto the same gravel road that led to Aunt Abigail’s. But three miles in, he turned again. She sat on the edge of the seat, searching ahead for the first glimpse of the farm Steven’s parents signed over to him. Her heart pounded, and a dozen half-formed images crowded her head. She’d envisioned the place so many times. She could hardly wait to see if the real thing matched the pictures she’d conjured.

Up ahead a huge barn, its roof a patchwork of old and new shingles and its wood siding bearing a coat of dark-red paint, stood tall and proud on a cleared expanse of ground. She pointed. “Is that your barn?”

“That’s it.” Steven spoke quietly, as if his voice was an intrusion.

“Where’s the house?”

“You can’t see it from this angle. The barn hides it.”

She tipped sideways, her hands tight on the bag of cabinet handles to keep it from sliding off her lap, and strained for a glimpse of the house. But it remained hidden until the truck rolled past the barn and onto a dirt lane. When she finally saw it, she understood why it wanted to hide behind the barn.

Steven parked the truck and turned off the engine. He curled his hands around the steering wheel and gazed out the front window, his lips set in an unsmiling line. “That’s the house.”

Anna—Grace examined it by increments, letting her gaze drift from the wooden shingles to the peeling siding, age-weathered gingerbread trims, and warped porch rails. After seeing Aunt Abigail’s beautifully painted two-story, this one seemed more like a shack. She fought disappointment. She’d expected small. She knew it had sat empty for many years. But she still wasn’t prepared for the reality of it. Sympathy swelled in her chest. Such a sad-looking little house, long neglected and sorely in need of tender loving care.

“I know it doesn’t look like much on the outside.”

She resisted nodding in agreement.

“I haven’t done any work on the exterior yet. But the inside’s coming along.” He finally turned toward her. “Do you still want to go in?”

If the inside proved as sorry as the outside, she might have nightmares. But he’d driven her over for a peek, and she would take it. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He slid out, then trotted around the front to open her door for her. She handed him the bag of handles before climbing down. Together, they crossed the hard ground and stepped onto the porch. The boards creaked, and Anna—Grace froze in place. Would the floor collapse?

Steven shot her a weak smile. “Don’t worry. It sounds worse than it is.”

She formed a glib reply. “Mom always says a creaky floor means a place has character.”

He chuckled. “Well, then, this place has more than its fair share of character.” He twisted the tarnished brass doorknob, and the door groaned on its hinges. He ushered Anna—Grace over the threshold and punched a button on the wall right inside the door. Light from an old, four-arm, pressed-tin chandelier flickered and then flooded the room.

Anna—Grace moved gingerly across the floor until she stood directly beneath the antique light fixture. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the unpainted plaster walls marked with crooked whitish paths where he’d apparently patched cracks. Tall baseboards, at least ten inches high, stretched along the bottom edge of each wall. Crown molding in the same pattern as the trim above the windows—embossed with a row of alternating ovals and arrows—highlighted the place where the walls met the ceiling. Her gaze dropped to the floor, where four-inch wide boards created a basket-weave pattern that ended with a square in the middle of the room.

She looked at Steven in complete relief. “This is charming.” Her voice echoed, as though she stood in an underground cavern.

His eyebrows rose. “You think so?”

“I do.” She meant it, too. Even though it was far from finished, she could see the potential. “Will you show me the rest of it?”

He led her into a short but wide hallway. Single doors both right and left stood ajar, and she peeked into what were obviously bedrooms. He’d taken up residence in the one on the left. Boxes lined one wall, and a mattress with rumpled blankets sat under the window. “There are just these two bedrooms, and they’re both pretty small.”

He sounded so apologetic, she experienced the need to reassure him even though the rooms were much smaller than the ones at Aunt Abigail’s. “I think they’re a nice size. Close to the size of my room at home.”

The door at the end of the hallway was closed, but he opened it and then stepped aside. “This is the bathroom.”

She moved into the stark space. White plastic pipes stuck up from the floor in two different locations, and a wadded towel filled a hole.

Steven leaned against the doorjamb. “The plumber’s already changed out the old lead pipes. They were in pretty bad shape. The sink, stool, and bathtub are in boxes out in the barn. Mr. Aldrich—he’s the carpenter, remember?—said we’ve got to do the walls, floor, and ceiling before we bring the fixtures in.”

She frowned. “Is there another bathroom?”

“No.”

“Well, if there’s no working toilet, where …”

“I use the outhouse.”

She gawked at him, horrified.

“And I use the pump in the barn to bathe.”

“Oh, Steven …”

He slung his arm across her shoulders and tugged her tight to his side. “It’s not so bad. As soon as the kitchen is finished, Mr. Aldrich will get started on the bathroom. I should have a toilet and tub in another week. Maybe two. I can manage that long.”

When she returned to the B and B, she would ask Aunt Abigail if Steven could rent one of the empty rooms. He’d catch pneumonia, bathing in cold water from a pump in the barn!

“Do you want to see the kitchen now?”

“It’s not as empty as the bathroom, is it?” The bare spaces were a little depressing.

“No, the original kitchen only had one short stretch of cabinets, which were falling apart. So instead of rebuilding them, Paul took everything out and started over with new. It’s actually pretty close to done.”

“Then I definitely want to see it.” She followed Steven with an eager bounce in her step. She hoped the kitchen would be as nice, or maybe even nicer if everything in it was new, than the kitchen at Aunt Abigail’s.

They walked through another empty room—the dining room, Steven said, although she could envision it being used as another bedroom if necessary—and
finally entered the kitchen. Anna—Grace came to a halt just inside the doorway. Five pairs of sawhorses holding three doors each turned the floor into a maze. Steven had warned her the doors were still wet, so she didn’t try to go in, but she looked. And admired. And couldn’t hold back a pleased “Ohhhh.”

Steven grinned at her. “Does that mean you like it?”

“It’s wonderful!” Three full walls of cabinetry, the open cases exposing the crisp, white shelves, formed a horseshoe-shaped work space. Even though there wasn’t a baking center like the one in Aunt Abigail’s kitchen, she was thrilled with the kitchen’s layout. “Anyone would love to claim this kitchen.”

“Do you think the appliances your folks got at the auction would fit in here?”

Anna—Grace scanned the openings for a refrigerator and stove. “I don’t know why not. And I like how they’ll be positioned—the stove at an angle to the sink, and the refrigerator on the wall close to the dining room in case I need to run in and grab extra butter or milk.”

Steven sucked in a sharp breath.

She peered up at him, alarmed. “What?”

“You said, ‘in case
I
,’ as if you’ve decided this kitchen will be yours.”

“I did?”

“Mm-hm.”

She drew back, replaying her words. “I guess I did.”

“You haven’t … decided that already, have you?”

Was he hopeful or reluctant to hear her answer? She wouldn’t lie to him. “No. I haven’t decided. I think I just got caught up in excitement for a minute.”

He nodded, and his breath eased out. “Okay.”

She caught his arm. “Are you disappointed? You’re working so hard on the house and spending money on it, and Alexa said today it doesn’t make sense to go to so much trouble to fix it up for someone else. She made me wonder if it’s wrong to think about selling it. I know you said you wouldn’t mind letting it go to someone else, but are you sure?”

His brows descended. “I’m sure.”

He didn’t look sure. He looked tense and uncertain. She moved close and rested her temple against his shoulder. “You can tell me the truth, Steven. I want you to be happy.”

For several seconds he stood as stiff and still as a statue, his breath coming in short little puffs that kissed her forehead. Then his chest expanded as he drew in a big breath. He shifted slightly, dislodging her head from his shoulder. He cupped her chin, his callous fingers scratchy against her skin, and raised her face. “I can let it go.”

“Even after doing all this work?”

“Even after that.”

She still thought he appeared less than certain, but she wouldn’t accuse him of dishonesty. She smiled. “All right then.” She took the bag of handles from him. “Could we hold one of these next to a door and see how they’ll look?”

His lips curved into a sad kind of grin. “Just in case they become your cabinets?”

“Just in case.”

“All right.” He removed one of the handles and very carefully hovered it above the closest door. “What do you think?”

The dark bronzy color of the handle looked wonderful against the warm, honeyed tint of the wood. She nodded. “I like it.”

“Me, too.” He dropped it back in the sack, then set the sack on the floor.

Anna—Grace returned to the dining room and stared for a moment at the bare walls. Steven moved up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She folded her arms over his, relishing the feel of his ropelike muscles, his sturdy frame seeming to bolster hers. A swell of love rolled through her, and it was all she could do to keep from turning around and melting into his embrace.

He whispered in her ear, “What are you thinking?”

Would he be shocked or flattered if he knew where her thoughts had drifted? She forced herself to focus on the house. “I was looking at the bare
walls. So many bare walls in this house … and they’ll all need paint or paper.” She tipped her head to peek at him. “Have you chosen colors yet?”

“No. I thought I’d let you do that.”

She chewed her lower lip. She hadn’t done badly choosing the cabinet handles, but the thought of decorating an entire house intimidated her. “I hope I don’t mess it up.”

He chuckled. “Unlikely.” He rocked her gently to and fro, his chin pressed to her temple. “I’d better take you to your aunt’s now. It’s close to suppertime, and people might talk if they find out we were out here by ourselves.”

She stepped away from his touch. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

As they drove the short distance between the two farmsteads, Anna—Grace decided she couldn’t eliminate her concern about people talking. She had no control over what others chose to do. But she could address her concern about decorating the house. Alexa had decorated all of Aunt Abigail’s house plus the old summer kitchen. When it came time to paint the walls, she’d ask for Alexa’s advice. It might draw the two of them together.

After all, they had a lot in common. They were both members of the “Who’s Your Daddy?” club.

Alexa

As soon as Grandmother’s night nurse arrived that evening, Alexa left Grandmother, Marjorie, Steven, and Anna—Grace at the dining room table sipping tea and munching cookies, and she trudged upstairs. Anna—Grace had seemed disappointed when Alexa excused herself, but she needed some time away from the girl. The mumble of their voices followed her, and when she reached the upstairs landing, a burst of laughter made her consider going back down. It sounded like they were having fun. After a moment’s hesitation she went on into her room and closed the door.

She kicked off her shoes, crossed to the chair in front of the window, and pulled out her cell phone. She brought up her mother’s number and aimed her finger at the Send button. But she didn’t hit it. How could she talk to Mom concerning her mixed feelings toward Anna—Grace? Even though Mom hadn’t raised the baby girl to adulthood, she still would feel an attachment to her. How could she not? It wouldn’t be fair to pull Mom into her worries.